Like Sugar
by Bella7
Summary: "What if she's in jail! What if she's DEAD! Natalia, I could be in love with a dead woman!" Ryan's search for love continues. R/R


**AN: **I've been threatening to do this for a little while, and now I have. It turned into a small novella, but I just finished watching the WHOLE Miami series and was further resolved to give Ryan Wolfe some lovin'. Poor boy hadn't had a date in seven years and enough is enough. So, without further ado, this very strange little ficlet about love, hope, and getting by with a little help from your friends.

**Like Sugar**

A cool, saltwater breeze roused Ryan from his sleep. He looked to his left and saw, to his surprise, that he was alone. Only a flattened pillow to keep him company. Frowning, he took stock of the bed itself and found that the top sheet was also missing, leaving him covered only with the fluffy white comforter. He looked toward the source of the breeze—the open French door which led out onto the lanai. Ryan smiled as his eyes fell upon his missing sheet, wrapped around his missing bedmate. He pulled on his sweatpants and padded across the small studio and out to where she was leaning against the railing.

The waves were crashing along the beach and the moon hung low, casting a long, silver reflection on the water. Ryan wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the nape of her neck. "Can't sleep?" he murmured against her warm, salty skin.

She smiled and shook her head, her dark curls tickling his nose as she did. "Just wanted to soak in a little more of this." Her eyes trailed upward to stare at the crescent moon.

"I know," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I wish we could stay forever."

Her head turned a little to the right so she could meet his eye. "We can't even stay for now," she said sadly. "We shouldn't be here, Ryan."  
He pulled back and turned her around to face him. "What are you talking about?"

Her blue eyes narrowed and she put her hands behind her on the railing to lean back on her arms. "You know what I mean." Her lips pouted for only a moment before he leaned in and kissed her. She let him rest his forehead against hers with a small smile. "You're making this difficult."  
"Why shouldn't we be here?"

"Because it's not real," she said simply, looking down at their bare feet on the concrete.

Ryan tilted her chin up and kissed her again. "It feels real," he whispered when they parted.

"But it's not," she reminded, with a hard swallow. "I don't even know if _I'm _real. I could be some figment that you made up in that adorably handsome head of yours," she said, bringing her hand up to run her fingers through his hair.

Not wanting to believe that she might be right, Ryan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He tangled his fingers in her short, springy curls and breathed in the fruity scent of her shampoo. She felt warm and solid pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his torso. Her heart was beating against his chest as he ran his other hand over the curve of her waist and hip. "You have to be real," he said softly, looking out onto the ocean.

She pulled away and rested her hands on his chest and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I hope you're right," she said softly, not bothering to hide the sadness in her voice. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his for another long, lingering kiss before pulling away with a whisper against his lips, "I hope you find me soon."

Ryan awoke with a jolt and turned on the light. He was alone—as always—and not in a deliciously secluded condo on the beach. He was in his own condo in Miami Springs, wide awake in the middle of the night because of her. Again.

This had been going on for almost three months and it was starting to unnerve him. Not every night, but at least two or three times a week. Not always the same dream but always the same beautiful, nameless woman. He reached for the notebook he kept by his bed and flipped to the page he'd started writing down things he remembered about her.

_Hair: Dark, curly, cut above her shoulders_

_Eyes: Blue_

_Skin: Pale, no tattoos or distinguishing scars_

_Other: Round face, full lips, 5-7"—5'8"? _

Not that it mattered, Ryan reminded himself, if she wasn't a real person to begin with. He'd gone through every movie he had, every magazine he'd idly flipped through in the last six months, any advertisement he might have missed, scanning each page, frame, and image for her face. Any sign that she existed—even in an unattainable way like in a glossy magazine photo—would mean that he wasn't crazy.

But there had been nothing. Nothing but these dreams for three months. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with one hand, reaching for a pen with the other. In the corner margin of the notebook page, he made another tally mark and counted them up. Thirty four. He had dreamt of her thirty-four times and had nothing to show for it.

Thirty four. The same number of candles that would have decorated his last birthday cake if he'd had one (he hadn't, the team had taken him for drinks instead and the amount of alcohol they'd consumed had made candles of any kind a decidedly bad idea.) Thirty four years old and, as his mother liked to remind him, unlikely to be getting any younger.

"I'd like to be called Bubbe someday, you know!" she had clucked last Thanksgiving with a shake of her head. Ryan had rolled his eyes and reminded her that she _was _called Bubbe by the three grandchildren his brother Jason had supplied her.

But he had to admit that she had a point. He _wasn't_ getting any younger and as much as he loved his job and his family at CSI, he wanted more. He wanted someone to come home to and cook meals with, someone to make him laugh when his caseload stole his sense of humor, someone who… Ryan shook his head again and tapped the pen against his list of traits. No, he didn't want just anyone who fit this bill. Not anymore. Now, all he could think was that he wanted _her_, whoever she was. He closed his eyes and flashed back to her sad expression, her pouty, wine-stained lips. _I could be some figment that you made up, _she said, the words echoing in his mind.

And while that idea had occurred to him, and scared him more than he'd like to admit, Ryan was making the choice not to believe it. He looked at his list once more before setting the notebook aside and turning of the light. Sinking back down into his blankets, he stared up at the ceiling, remembering her dark blue eyes staring at him with such honesty. Her last words to him would keep him up for most of the night. _I hope you find me soon…_

* * *

"Ahem," Natalia tapped the toe of her high heeled shoe on the Mexican tile of the kitchen floor.

Ryan looked up from where he'd been musing and noticed that all of their evidence was packed and ready to go. "Sorry," he shook his head. "Were you saying something?"

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing important. Just formulating some theories about our victim, analyzing a crime scene, and trying to pinpoint a motive."

"Oh," he said, barely listening again. "Keep up the good work."

"Sure thing," she scoffed, uncrossing her arms. "Do you at least want to help me load all this stuff into the Hummer?"

"Absolutely." Ryan bent and grabbed the heavier of the two boxes and headed outside, leaving a bewildered Natalia to bring up the rear.

"So are you going to tell me what's up?" she asked finally, pulling off of the victim's street.

"Hmm?" Ryan looked over at her. "Nothing's up."

She gave him a look. "C'mon, Ryan. I've known you for how many years? Something is up."

He opened his mouth to protest that he was fine, nothing out of the ordinary going on, but closed it again. "It's…extremely weird," he said after another moment's pause.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Ryan. Last week, I had to collect a victim's eyeball. I found it on the end of a fork with a bite taken out of it. _That _was extremely weird. Unless whatever you're about to tell me can trump that, I think I can handle it."

Ryan smiled and shook his head. "You know what? It can wait. I need to focus on this case."

"Oh, c'mon," she urged. "At least promise you'll tell me later?"

"Fine," he relented. "We can go for a drink after shift."

Walter returned from the bar with Natalia's refill and another basket of tortilla chips. "So spill, Wolfe," he said, sliding back onto the high-top chair. "We don't have all night."

Ryan pursed his lips and looked at his friends. "You know, I think I said I'd tell you," he pointed to Natalia, who smiled into her fruity blue cocktail, "about what's going on. I didn't say anything about you, big guy," he repositioned his point to indicate Walter, who could only grin back.

"C'mon," Walter rolled his eyes. "BV said you had something going on and it was," he raised his hands to supply some air quotes, "extremely weird." He shrugged. "Maybe I can help."

"Doubtful."

"Well then, consider me extremely curious and getting impatient."

"And thank you," he looked back to Natalia, ignoring Walter's last comment. "I appreciate your discretion."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "No one ever said it was a secret. And I only told Walter and you didn't tell me anything in the first place."

"So spill," Walter repeated, reaching over to gently nudge Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan took a deep breath and another sip of his drink. "Okay, all right, let's do this." He looked them both in the eyes. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Of course," Natalia said quickly, just as Walter said, "Nope." His face broke into another grin before he sobered. "I'm kidding, man. I'm kidding. Of course I won't laugh."

"I've been having these dreams for the last couple of months," he began, almost immediately regretting this venture as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "About a woman."

"Sex dreams?" Natalia asked, innocently wrapping her lips around her straw.

"Yeah," he answered, shifting uncomfortably. "Sometimes. Not all the time. Anyway, the sex isn't the point." Ryan swallowed again, wishing this was any less crazy than it felt. "The point is the woman I've been dreaming about."

"Who is she?" Walter asked, propping his chin on the heel of his hand.

"That's just it! I have _no idea_!" he exclaimed. "I have never seen this woman before in my life, and I've been dreaming about her for three months. And these don't just feel like dreams, either." He raked a hand through his hair. "They feel like…" he paused, trying to think of the right way to put it. "They feel like memories that just haven't happened yet." Natalia and Walter exchanged glances and Ryan felt his ears redden and his heart sink. "And you guys think I'm nuts, don't you? I told you this was extremely weird."

"I don't think it's extremely weird," Natalia said, putting her drink down after a moment. "I think it's perfectly understandable between what happened with Sam and all the love that's floating around the lab since Calleigh and Delko got back together…" she shrugged. "You're lonely and worried you're not going to find anyone so your subconscious came up with a way to fill the void."

"Yeah man," Walter began, "I don't know what you're worried about. They're just dreams—it's not like you're hallucinating."

Ryan pursed his lips. "But that's what I'm saying, guys. These don't just feel like dreams; these are…_really _vivid."

Walter quirked an eyebrow. "How vivid?"

"3-D, surround sound kind of vivid," he answered flatly. "I just…I don't know. I feel like I know her. I mean, I know things about her I couldn't possibly just make up and I guess I just…" he trailed off, embarrassed to continue.

Natalia tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. "You're hoping she's a real person," she finished for him. "Aren't you?"

He dropped his head into his arms and nodded hopelessly. "I know, it sounds completely insane but maybe…I don't know…maybe there's even a tiny chance she's not just someone I made up?"

Walter frowned. "But there's still a really big chance that you _did_ just make her up."

"Yeah, I know that," he snapped, wishing again that he'd never brought it up. "But just humor me for a minute, guys. What if..." he paused and started again. "What if she _is _real, and she's out there somewhere? Wouldn't it stand to reason that maybe…" he shrugged, uncomfortable with the way they were looking at him. "Maybe she's looking for me, too?"

Natalia's expression had softened even more. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Would you please stop looking at me like I'm some kind of three-legged puppy? I know I sound like an idiot—"

"You don't," she interrupted, placing her hand on his arm. "You really don't. I think it's incredibly romantic and if you want, I'll help you find her."

"I think it's a little creepy," Walter said bluntly. "But if it turns out she is real, then we definitely have to find her." He smiled and swatted his friend on the shoulder. "I'm in too."

Ryan smiled. "Really? You guys will seriously help me?"

"Absolutely," Natalia said with a decisive nod of her head. "I don't have the slightest idea where we'll start," she added, dampening the mood. "But details, details."

"Oh, I know," he assured her. "We're totally screwed as far as chances go but seriously," his face brightened into another smile. "It means a lot that you're willing to help."

Walter grinned. "You know we're here for you, man."

* * *

It was almost two weeks later that Ryan got his first piece of comforting knowledge that he might not be completely insane. Actually, it was Natalia who made the discovery, and it was thanks to Tom and his brilliant collection of seemingly useless knowledge that she did.

She'd been trying to think of any way she could help in Ryan's hunt for his mystery woman and had been coming up with nothing but dead ends. He had no name, no address, no crime she had committed, and he refused to sit down with the forensic artist and try to put her face on paper. Not that she could blame him, considering that would probably lead to more questions. Frustrated, she found herself grinding her teeth while waiting for Tom in the morgue.

He gave her a look. "I am going as fast as I can, Ms. Boa Vista."

She blushed. "No, I'm sorry. That wasn't meant for you. I'm just trying to work out a problem in my head and it's…difficult."

Tom smiled. "Can I help?"

"I don't think so," she said regretfully. "Well, maybe. Have you ever had a dream about someone, only you've never seen them before?"

"Of course," he said. "Everyone does. It used to drive me crazy too, trying to figure out who they were and what they were doing in my subconscious until," he leaned into the cavity of the dead body before him and extracted some tissue. "I learned something very interesting about the human brain."

She raised her eyebrows. "And what's that?"

"The unconscious brain can't actually create a human face. We can only recall the faces of people we've seen before."

"What? How is that possible?"

"The conscious mind can create faces because it's actively using both sides of the brain and is fully functioning. But in order to populate our dreams, our brain relies on faces it's stored when we're awake."

"Really?"

"Really," he said. "So fear not, Natalia, you have actually seen your dream-visitor. You just didn't realize it." He reached behind him to his tray and retrieved the evidence envelope there. "So there's your bullet and your fact for the day," he said with a smile.

Natalia shook her head with a grin. "That's unbelievable, Tom. You are an absolute genius."

"Alas," he shrugged. "I can't take credit for that one; I read it underneath a Snapple cap."

Her caseload kept her from sharing her news until they were in the locker room, packing up for the day. She sat down on the bench and slid her feet out of her high heels, resting them for a moment on the cool concrete floor.

"Hey there, brown eyed girl," Ryan greeted cheerfully, sliding up to his own locker. "Catch any bad guys today?"

"Not enough," she smiled. "What about you?"

"Two, as a matter of fact."

"Nice!" She reached over to give him a high-five. "Hey, your good day is about to get better. I found out something very interesting from Tom today." She relayed the tidbit of information Tom had shared with her and watched, confused, as Ryan's expression drooped. "What's wrong? This is good news; it means you're not completely insane!"

"No, I know," he said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "It's just…" he paused before continuing. "That doesn't exactly narrow it down, y'know? I'd almost prefer to think I just made her up and deal with that. What if she sat behind me in ninth grade chemistry class or I gave her a speeding ticket ten years ago or…" his eyes widened. "What if she's in jail? What if she's _dead? _Natalia, I could be in love with a dead woman." Defeated by this idea, he dropped down onto the bench next to her and put his head in his hands. "We should just forget this."

"We are _not _forgetting this!" she exclaimed, very seriously. "Okay, I guess I didn't realize you'd react this way, but you do have a point, unfortunately." She gave him a worried look. "Did you say you were in love with her?"

Ryan glanced over at her. "Figure of speech."

"How serious are you about finding this girl?"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Eight?" he guessed, finally. "Serious to a degree of eight? I mean, I don't know…" he shrugged. "If it's possible to find her—you know, given she's not dead or in jail or married or a lesbian—then I really want to find her." He sighed. "Even if it's just so I can find out she's nothing like who I think she is and move on."

"Hey, don't sound so depressed," she nudged his shoulder. "There's a really good chance that she's here in Miami. And who knows, since your brain couldn't have created her face, maybe it couldn't have created her personality either."

Ryan gave her a look. "You're just trying to make me not feel so crazy, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am."

"I appreciate that." He ran his hand over his jaw in thought. "All right, since I'm not crazy, let's say this. Let's say she's in Miami and actually available and I have the slightest chance of actually finding her."

"Okay."  
"I've been dreaming about this girl for three months already," he squinted his eyes in thought.

"I'm going to give it three more weeks."

"Three weeks?" Natalia asked skeptically. "And then what?"

"Then I'm done with this mishegas; we're all putting this behind us and moving on." His hand sliced through the air with conviction. He looked at his watch. "I'm going home, I've got a court appearance in the morning."

"I'll walk out with you," she said, sliding her feet back into her heels and standing up. They parted ways at the parking lot and from her front seat, she watched him get into his car and drive away. "Okay, lady," she said out loud. "Whoever you are, you've got three weeks before you miss out on a really great guy."

* * *

It was another intensely muggy day in Miami; heavy clouds hung over the city and kept the dense moisture from dissipating. Ryan's shirt was sticking to his back and sweat was rolling down the back of his neck. There were too many people in Calle Ocho that day and they all seemed to be bumping into him and jostling him off the sidewalk. But none of that bothered him every time he glanced down at the fingers entwined with his. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of tennis shorts that were probably just a little too short; but he was enjoying the view every time she stopped at one of the sidewalk displays to try a taste of a Cuban snack or purchase some little trinket she would tuck into her large, cloth purse.

Ryan smiled and brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, breaking her attention away from the display of silver charms. He smiled at her, trying to put his finger one what he had just tasted on her skin.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, self-consciously patting down her frizzing dark curls with her free hand.

He kissed her hand again and licked his lips, more certain this time. "Your hands taste like sugar. Did you know that?"

She grinned, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "Occupational hazard," she said, wiggling her fingers, still in his grasp. He was just about to ask what she meant by that when the sky, finally deciding that the city had had enough, opened up and began tossing buckets of rain down onto the street. The sidewalk vendors panicked, quickly pulling their merchandise inside or covering it with large, clear plastic tarps while the shoppers darted into stores and restaurants to escape the cloudburst.

Instantly drenched, Ryan gripped her hand and began moving toward the nearest botanica. Much to his surprise, she refused to move. "C'mon, we're soaked!" he yelled over the water pounding on the tin roofs.

She looked at him and smiled. "So what's your hurry? I like the rain!" she yelled back, tilting her face up to be pelted by the fat rain drops. "It feels good!" she exclaimed, shaking out her curls which had regained their shape in the storm.

Despite feeling a little stupid standing there in the middle of a downpour, Ryan had to admit that she was right. The rain did feel good after being so hot for so long. He looked up at the sky with her, letting the water rinse his face as well, just long enough to miss her eyes trail back down to study him, a worried expression forming on her face. "Are you giving up on me, Ryan?"

He blinked and looked back at her. "Of course not," he said, almost immediately.

"I mean…I wouldn't blame you," she shrugged, starting to walk again.

"No," he assured her, taking her hand again to stop her. "I don't—I don't _want _to give up on you."

"So don't," she told him simply, pushing back her wet hair. He didn't like where this was headed—it was starting to feel too much like a real fight.

"It's not that easy," he said, feeling that same helplessness that had been overwhelming when he let himself think about her when he was awake. "I don't know how to find you…I don't even know where to start."

"Well you won't find me if you're looking for me," she told him plainly. "Isn't that the number one detective rule?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you're a detective now?" he asked giving her a playful nudge to make her smile.

"I know every line to Dick Tracy…does that count?" she asked, stepping closer to him and lacing their fingers on the other hand as well.

"Absolutely."

"Well then I'm way overdue for my badge and gun," she said with a grin before she added, "And my fedora, also," as an afterthought. "So take my advice and stop looking for me."

He tilted his head to the side. "But I thought you wanted me to find you."

"Of course I do," she dropped his hands and bit her lower lip.

"I can't find you if I'm not looking for you," he repeated, feeling his frustration bubbling again. "This is complicated."

To his surprise, she laughed, taking his face in her hands to pull him in for a kiss. "You think too much," she said softly when they parted.

Ryan brushed her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. "Occupational hazard."

"Ryan?" Natalia placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He sat up from his reclined position on the break room couch and gasped like she'd just pulled him from under water. "Hey!" she exclaimed, putting her hands up. "Relax, it's just me."

He put a hand to his racing heart and took a few deep breaths. "Jesus Christ, Nat."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, stepping back so he could adjust to his surroundings.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, still blinking rapidly and looking around. "What time is it?"

"It's a little after seven…in the morning. You're at the lab," she reminded. "Remember?"

Double shift. Triple homicide. It had been his turn to catch a few hours of sleep in the break room. It was all flooding back and he sat up a few deep breaths. "Sorry," he said to his friend. "Guess I was really asleep."

She smiled. "Don't worry about it; I'm just glad you don't swing at people like Calleigh."

"She bites too," he reminded, remembering with a chill how a night terror had caused Calleigh to nearly take a chunk out of his arm when he tried to wake her a few years ago. "So what's up?"

"There was a hold up at a Miami Mutual branch on Flagler, they think it's our guy; I've already got your kit," she pointed to the table and offered a hand to pull him to his feet. "Let's go, sleeping beauty."

The morning rush was in full swing by the time they were ready to start taking witness statements on the robbery. Frustrated by the lack of any details or helpful observations, he flipped to a new page and approached a man who appeared to be in his late forties. "Excuse me sir, I'm with the Miami Dade police," he began, giving his pen a click. "Can you tell me—" Ryan didn't get a chance to finish his sentence because the man turned and bolted in the opposite direction, running straight into the crowded sidewalk. "Natalia!" Ryan yelled, dropping his pad of paper.

She looked up in time to see which was the suspect was going as her partner took off after him. "I'm going around," she called to his back. "I'll cut him off!"

His feet slammed against the pavement, he was shoving people out of the way. "Out of the way," he yelled to the crowd ahead. "MDPD!" The suspect continued, searching every space between businesses for an alley to run down. "MDPD," he hollered again. "STOP!" He wasn't too far behind when the suspect turned a corner and Ryan, hot on his heels, followed suit, only to crash head-on into a pedestrian. "I'm sorry," he said, picking up his pace again.

"No problem," the woman assured him.

Ryan stopped at the sound of her voice. The suspect was a half a block away, but he turned around to see, brushing herself off from where he'd slammed her into the wall, the woman he'd been dreaming about for three months. Same large blue eyes, same shoulder-length dark hair, same freckles, same curves. Same everything.

"I'm okay," she said with a small smile. "Really."

If he waited any longer, there was no chance he was going to catch this guy; he felt the anxiety rising again. "Don't leave, okay?" he asked, starting back down the street. "Please?"

"What?" she called after him.

"You're not in trouble," he yelled back. "Just please, please don't go anywhere." He didn't have time to see if she was going to take him seriously before he started his chase again, full speed, trying to make up for the thirty seconds he had just lost.

Luckily, his partner had not been nearly so distracted. She rounded the block near the next corner and collided with their suspect, taking the opportunity to pin him to the wall and handcuff him. "I hate it when they run," she said to Ryan, out of breath as a patrol car pulled up to take the man into custody. But he wasn't paying attention. He was staring back down the block, trying to see if the woman had listened to him, peering through the morning commuter crowd, willing them to disperse so he could get another glimpse of her face. "No problem, by the way," Natalia continued, rolling her eyes. "I was more than happy to apprehend our suspect for you." She came to stand next to him and nudged him with her elbow. "Ryan? What are doing?"

"I saw her," he said finally, almost not believing it himself. "I ran into her."

"Who?" she asked out of instinct before realization dawned on her. "No."

"Yeah. I did. While I was chasing this guy down," he motioned to the police cruiser as it was pulling away.

"What happened?" she asked, excitedly.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "I mean…I ran into her, I realized who she was, and then I had to keep going."

"Are you insane?"

"Well, I asked her not to leave."

Natalia's eyes doubled. "You mean she's still there?" she asked, pointing down the block. "What are you doing, giving me the play-by-play? _Go back!"_

Ryan looked at her and nodded. "I'm just going to get her name," he promised. "I'll meet you back at the branch in five minutes."

"Shut up and go," she said with an excited laugh, giving him a shove.

"Be cool," he told himself under his breath. "Don't screw this up. Do. Not. Screw this up." His plan was simple: apologize for running into her again, make sure she wasn't hurt, introduce himself and then ask her out for dinner. Somewhere between the introduction and the invitation, he was going to silently pray to every deity he knew of that she would say yes. Ryan took another deep breath. "You can do this," he reminded himself, approaching the street corner at a brisk pace.

But, as it turned out, he couldn't. Couldn't apologize, couldn't ask her name or introduce himself, couldn't even screw up the whole encounter, because the woman he'd come back for was nowhere to be found.

* * *

"Do you think I scared her?" Ryan asked, a deep frown settled onto his face while Walter pushed a bottle into his hands.

"I wasn't there," he reminded him, "but it's likely."

"I doubt that _you_scared her," Natalia told him from her place on the floor beside the coffee table. "You're fairly non-threatening. If she left because she was shaken up, it was probably because of the whole situation, not just you. That guy was pretty scary."

"Yeah, but wouldn't you have stuck around? I told her she wasn't in trouble."

"You did?" she looked disappointed. "Why would you do that? You gave her an easy out! If you'd just kept your mouth shut, she probably would have hung around to give a statement."

Walter made a skeptical face. "Probably is a pretty strong word, BV. Most of our eye-witnesses don't even hang around to give statements."

Ryan pointed to his friend and nodded. "Walter knows the deal."

Natalia sighed. "Forgive me for being optimistic. And you know, gentlemen, that there is a bright side here. She's not only real, she's _in_Miami! Probably around the area where you ran into her."

He rolled his eyes. "And what am I supposed to do, go door to door, hauling people out until I find her?"

"Of course not," she scoffed and reached behind her into her purse, retrieving her iPad. "In fact, I just thought of the perfect way to get her attention." She looked up from the bright screen to see Walter and Ryan's expectant expressions. "You can write a missed connection!"

Ryan's eyebrows huddled close together. "A what now?"

"Missed connections!" Natalia exclaimed as if it were obvious. "They're the best part of Craigslist."

"No," he sat back, no longer interested. "I am not doing anything that involves Craigslist."

"I'm gonna agree with Wolfe," Walter said, shaking his head. "Craigslist is about as shady as it gets."

"Yeah, but not this part," she assured them both. "These are perfectly safe and not creepy."

"And how are you so familiar with this aspect of Craigslist, BV?"

Natalia glanced down at the screen again and cleared her throat. "I read them…"

"You read them?" Ryan repeated. "You read the missed connections column?"

"Sometimes."

"How often?"

"Just on Sundays," she admitted, still not meeting either of their eyes. "It's just this stupid thing I do. I just…" she shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know. I just check every week to see if anyone wrote one about me."

If she had looked up from her tablet, she would have seen the worried expressions on the faces of her friends. "Natalia, that's…really weird," Ryan declared after studying her for a moment.

"Yeah…" Walter agreed. "We're going to have to talk about that." He glanced from Ryan to Natalia and back again. "Not tonight though, because I only have so much beer and we told Ryan we'd solve his problems tonight."

"I don't have a problem to solve," she reminded them, brandishing the website on the screen under their noses. Ryan shook his head and Walter accepted the iPad, sitting back into the couch cushions.

"All right," he said, humoring her. "So if I were looking to see if someone wrote one of these guys about me," he squinted at the screen. "I guess I'd go to…w4m. Is that right?"

"Yes," Natalia said. "But don't read any from Dade University. It's crazy over there."

Ryan smiled. "Crazy how?"

"There are always people posting missed connections about hooking up in psych bathrooms and under the bleachers and…all over the place. I'd never send my kid there after reading those."

He shook his head. "Sullying the good name of Craigslist…"

Natalia leaned across the table to smack his knee. "You're not going to be laughing when this brilliant idea of mine unites you with the love of your life."

"Walter, did you find an example yet?"

He still looked skeptical as he scrolled through the list before scrolling back to the top. "I don't know," he tapped the first one his finger rested on. "Let's see what this lady is looking for." Sitting up straighter, Walter cleared his throat. "3/20: Brown-haired guy who ran into me on Flagler, sorry I couldn't stick around. Try again 3/23? 8pm." His jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Oh my God," Natalia echoed.

"Both of you stop it right now," Ryan commanded, looking from one to the other.

"I'm not making this up," Walter insisted turning the tablet to face Ryan. "Swear."

"That's you!" she declared, pointing at him while he read it over.

"It is not me," he assured her. "It is an incredibly generic description of a guy who is _not_me. We weren't even on Flagler!"

"You were four feet away from Flagler!"

"She's got a point…" Walter said, reading the ad a third time. "It definitely sounds like this is you." He grew thoughtful for another moment. "Which is a good and a bad thing, I guess."

"How do you figure?" Ryan asked.

"Well it's good because now you can go and meet her and stop obsessing over her—"

"I am _not_obsessive," he cut him off indignantly.

"You _are_ obsessive," Walter argued before continuing as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "And bad because, if it _is_ her…then…she's the kind of girl who posts missed  
connections on Craigslist."

Their female companion sat back on her heels and shook her head, piercing Walter with a withering stare. "I'm going to ignore that for the moment," she said evenly. "But don't think I'm going to forget it."

* * *

Ryan's palms were sweating, his throat was dry, and with every step, he was fighting the voice in his head that was telling him this was absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm just going to take a walk around the block," he had told Natalia and Walter, who were waiting for him at Crosby's a block away. "Seriously. Five minutes and I'm coming back."

"Unless she's there waiting for you," Natalia argued. "Because then I was right and this is fate."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. In the incredibly unlikely chance that she's there and it _is _fate, expect a text saying you're the smartest woman in the world and that I'll never doubt you again."

She held up her phone. "I can't wait to read it," she said with a grin.

Ryan reached out and pinched her cheek. "So optimistic, my little bubele. I'll be back in five minutes."

Walter reached for the round of shots and held up his glass, motioning for his friends to follow suit. "Here's to you, Wolfe. Hope she's waiting for you," he winked. "So we can talk about something else for a change."

"Amen to that," Ryan said with a smile, tossing the liquor to the back of his throat.

The tiny shot of courage had lasted him until he was fifteen feet outside of Crosby's. Then the panic had set in once more and his mind had started working overtime, churning out all of the potentially mortifying ways this night could end.

He had convinced himself, inspired by Natalia's optimism, that the worst case scenario would be that the two people the ad had _actually _been about were already there, united by the invisible hand of fate, and he could just walk past, unseen, and head right back to his friends. He was trying not to let any other scenarios creep into his imagination. Like the one where the ad had been about him, but not written by the woman he thought and he'd end up on some kind of blind date ambush; or the one where his dream girl had been the one who wrote the ad, only not about Ryan and was really disappointed when he was the one who showed up and reminded her of her skinned elbow and bruised tailbone. In that scenario, she also threatened to sue the station for police brutality and sexual harassment.

"Dear God," Ryan said under his breath. "Would it be too much to be able to turn my brain off for just a minute?" He stopped walking and checked his surroundings. He was standing under the bright pink awning of a bakery—the place where they had ordered the celebration cake for Austin and Patty's adoption party, he remembered with a smile—and was only about thirty feet from the corner he would have to turn and face his destiny. Maybe. "You can do this," he told himself, taking another deep breath.

He strode purposefully down the rest of the block and turned to the left. He took exactly one step in that direction before turning right around and retreating back to Flagler. Standing on the street corner where he had crashed into the woman of his dreams, where Natalia was certain she'd be waiting for him, having taken a chance on a Craigslist ad, were roughly twenty guys who all fit the description on the internet.

His brain had not even let him imagine such a scene. He wanted to peer around the side of the shop just to be sure he wasn't imagining things, but he didn't dare. Of _course _there would be a buffet of good looking men for this woman to choose from. It was Miami, 85% of the male population had brown hair and Flagler had to be one of the busiest streets in the city. The ad had said nothing about a time of day that they'd met or anything more specific that would weed out the competition.

Ryan laughed mirthlessly to himself and leaned against the warm stones of the building for support. What the hell had he been thinking? Chasing some girl he didn't know because he'd had dreams about her? It had been a fruitless, ridiculous idea to begin with and the large group of men waiting for whoever wrote that ad only served as the final twenty nails in the coffin. He straightened up with another sigh ran his hands once over his face. "I'm giving up," he said out loud, hoping she could hear him, wherever she was. "Enough."

Ryan looked at his watch and frowned. He'd only been gone a few minutes and, feeling so utterly deflated, could not stand the idea of recounting what he'd seen to his friends. Especially Nat, who was hoping so hard that this would turn out for him. He looked left toward a bar across the street, and then right, back at the cheerful, well-lit bakery he was standing next to. If he hadn't tried their food before, Ryan would have gone and drowned his sorrow at the sports bar. As it was, he'd eaten the best piece of cake in his adult life thanks to Patty Cake Bakery and made an executive decision that eating his feelings would make for a pleasant change of pace.

A little bell jingled as he pulled open the door and stepped inside. The floor was tiled white and lemon yellow and the walls matched the bright pink of the awning with large cartoon confections and cupcake art decorating a good portion of them. There were bistro tables and chairs throughout, some of which had already been pulled in from the sidewalk for the night, and an enormous display case that took up half of one of the walls. Something by Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons was playing and Ryan couldn't help but smile a little bit as he picked up one of the menus by the doorway.

"Are you with the convention?" a voice asked from the front of the shop.

Ryan set down the laminated card and looked up. He hoped his jaw didn't drop, but there was no guarantee, because standing behind the counter, her arms resting on top of the display case, was the dark-haired, blue eyed woman he'd been searching for. Not believing it, he blinked a few times and watched her lips twitch into a smile.

"Hello?"

He blinked again and shook his head, realizing she'd asked him a question. "Sorry, what?"

"Well, I was just kidding but I asked if you were with the convention of hot guys who were all assembling right outside a little bit ago. Did you see that? It was weird."

He smiled and willed his feet to unglue and approach the counter. "Yeah, I did," he said and tried to give a confused shrug. "I don't know; maybe there's a support group or something."

She laughed and Ryan couldn't believe that she sounded just like she had in his dreams. How was this possible? "I was asking around to see if there was anything special going on tonight, but I haven't heard anything yet." She stopped talking and studied his face a moment longer, her expression softening. "You looked kind of down when you walked in; is it anything a cupcake can fix?"

He took a deep breath and looked up at the menu painted above the counter. "I _was_ kind of down when I walked in," he agreed, pretending to study the different kinds of filled cakes so he wouldn't keep staring at her. "But I'm better now."

Her smile stretched across her face, showing off her teeth and making her large eyes squint. Her hair was down and fell just above her shoulders in thick, dark curls. "In that case, I'm glad I decided to stay open a little longer tonight. So what can I get for you?" she asked, drumming her short, purple fingernails on the top of the bakery case. Even if he hadn't been inexplicably dreaming about her for three months, Ryan knew he would have been instantly smitten.

"Can you please tell me what a More to Love Cupcake is?" he asked, a grin coming over his face at the names on the menu.

"Well, for one thing, it's delicious," she said matter-of-factly, sliding open the door of the glass case and pulling out a large cupcake, about the size of a softball, topped with frosting, a slice of banana, and a chocolate covered pretzel. "We took our favorite Ben and Jerry's flavors and turned them into a cupcake," she told him, setting it on a small black plate and setting it in the center of the counter. "Sound like something you'd be into?"

"That's an understatement," he said, bending down to examine the creation at eye level. "What exactly goes into something like this?"

"Vanilla batter with roasted banana and chocolate ganache filling—"

"You can stop right there, that sounds amazing."

"Well then it's got peanut butter frosting, a slice of banana and, of course, the chocolate covered pretzel," she beamed proudly. "My personal favorite."

"Did you come up with this?"

She nodded and Ryan stood up, happy she had stepped from behind the case. To his dismay, she was not wearing a name tag, only a bright pink t-shirt with a white outline of a cupcake stamped on the left pocket. "Well, we all come up with the ideas, I just figure out how to make them taste good. And the baking is done by the three of us." She directed his attention to the framed photo behind her on the wall of herself and two dark haired younger women standing behind the counter. Seated on the counter was a little girl who looked to be about two years old with a matching set of big, blue eyes and a wide smile on her round face. "That's from when we first opened," she added, noticing his interest.

Ryan blinked and looked back at her again. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You sounded like you were getting ready to close. I can get this to go."

She waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. Everything is done except to box up the day-olds and that only takes a few minutes." She bit her bottom lip and pushed the plate toward him, a little shyly. "You're welcome to stay and enjoy."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I was going to make coffee for myself, would you like a cup?"

"That'd be great," Ryan said, waiting to wake up at any moment.

"Just grab a seat," she motioned to the empty chairs. "I'll bring it out for you."

While he waited for his coffee, Ryan took stock of all that had transpired in the last ten minutes. She was a real, live person, who worked at a real, live bakery only a few miles from the lab. And she really was as pretty as he had imagined, even in a work uniform and jeans. And she had been flirting with him. At least, he thought she had been flirting with him. But he'd been talking to her for five minutes and he still hadn't asked her name. Or anything else of consequence. He looked down, distraught by how off-course his plan had gone, and took a large bite of cupcake.

Holy. Shit.

_I'm going to marry this girl, _Ryan told himself, reveling in the waves of chocolate, banana, and peanut butter that were overwhelming his taste buds. He swallowed and licked any remaining icing from the corners of his mouth just as she reappeared from behind him and set two empty mugs down on the table. She looked at him expectantly and pointed to the cupcake. "Huh? Did I steer you right?"

Ryan smiled, hoping he did not have any excessive chocolate in his teeth. "That's unbelievable."

She beamed and gave a little curtsey. "Thank you sir." She poured two cups of coffee from the carafe and dug out a handful of stirrers, cream, and sugar packets from the pocket of her apron. Leaving one mug and the carafe for him, she picked up the other mug and dumped a sachet of sugar into it. "Here you go, stay as long as you like," she said, giving the coffee a quick whisk with a tiny red straw.

"If you're not too busy," he began hesitantly, hoping he'd been reading her signals right. "Would you mind joining me?" he motioned to the empty chair. "I mean, since we're both here, and we're both already drinking coffee. And," he added with another hopeful smile, "your bakery did spare me from a pretty depressing Friday night."

She bit her bottom lip again and appeared to be weighing the pros and cons. "Okay," she said, sliding in across from him. He watched her take a sip of her coffee, enjoying too much the way she seemed to hug the mug with both hands. It was also then that he noticed—with a mental high-five to himself—that the ring finger of her left hand was bare and without so much as a tan line.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me," he extended his hand. "I'm Ryan Wolfe."

She shook it with a smile. "Hi Ryan, I'm Jordan King."

"Jordan," he repeated, giving her hand a final quick squeeze before letting go. "That's a nice name. Do you normally work on Friday nights?"

"No, I'm usually the opener," she said, tucking a stray dark curl back behind her ears. "Julie's my closer but she had a date tonight so we switched things around." She gave another nervous smile, noticing how intently he was looking at her. "Do I have something on my face?" she asked, brushing at her cheeks for any flour or butter or icing.

Ryan smiled and shook his head. "No, you're good. I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare I just…" he summoned his courage and asked, "you don't recognize me. Do you?"

She turned her head to the left to look at him sideways. "No. Should I? Are you someone famous?"

He laughed. "No, I'm a police officer."

Her eyes grew round. "Oh my God, am I in trouble? Do you have a warrant for something?"

He laughed again. "No, no. Calm down," he waved her concern away. "You're not in trouble," he assured her. "And just so you know, usually when we arrest someone, we don't take this long to get to that point. We pretty much just come in and put the cuffs on."

Jordan gave an embarrassed laugh and pushed back her hair again. "Right…not usually a lot of cupcake ordering involved, I guess."

"Not usually," he smiled. "I was just wondering if I looked familiar because…" he glanced down and then back to her face. "We kind of ran into each other, earlier this week."

"We did?"

"Well, technically I ran into _you_, you were just standing there. It was right outside."

"Oh," realization dawned on her face. "Oh, right! Sure, I remember you."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Did you catch the guy you were chasing?"

"We did," he said, picking up his cup of coffee. "But I…kind of asked you not to leave…and you did. Do you remember that?"

That full lip found its way between her teeth again; Ryan had to look elsewhere. "I remember you saying I wasn't in trouble, and I had to open the shop. So I left." She thought about their encounter for a moment longer. "Oh my God. That isn't…fleeing the scene or a crime or something. Is it?"

Ryan pretended to consider it. "Eh, kind of…"

"It_ is? _Isn't that felony? Oh my God," she put her hands on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry if I impeded your investigation in any way. That cupcake is on the house, by the way. One hundred percent. The coffee too."

He raised his eyebrows. "So we're going to add bribing a police officer to your rap sheet too?"

"Wow. I'm really on a roll tonight," she shook her head. "I've genuinely never even had a speeding ticket and two minutes talking to a cop and I'm practically a vigilante."

"You could do worse," Ryan told her seriously. "You could tell me you've been misbranding kosher foods and then I'd really have to arrest you."

Her jaw dropped open at the suggestion and she stared at him for a long moment before he began to smile. She let out the breath she'd been holding and dropped her head, covering her eyes with one hand. Ryan had to busy himself with doctoring his coffee to keep from covering her other hand with his. "I'm kidding," he assured her as she pushed back her hair again and met his eyes with a grin.

"Any way, I really am sorry that I left the other day. But it was after eight and if the doors aren't unlocked for the morning rush," she shrugged, "it's hard to catch up the rest of the day."

"It's all right," he said good-naturedly. "I understand."

They were interrupted by the opening power chord of "Joy to the World" and Chuck Negron loudly proclaiming Jeremiah to be a bullfrog before Jordan reached into her pocket with flaming cheeks and quieted her phone. "That's…humiliating," she muttered, frantically poking at the screen.

Ryan laughed. "As far as Three Dog Night songs go, it's an excellent choice."

"Sorry," she apologized, tucking the phone away. "I just always worry there's some kind of emergency—no one ever texts me while I'm here." She shook her head. "But the mystery is solved."

"Mystery?"

"Of the hot guy congregation outside," she motioned to the large front windows. "Apparently Ke$ha is shooting a music video at that club down the street."

"The one on 26th?" Ryan asked, realization sinking in.

"Yeah," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess all the extras were hanging around outside."

He nodded, feeling suddenly incredibly stupid. Had he really believed that all of those men were there to answer a Craiglist ad? Yes, he realized, he absolutely had. Jordan took another sip of her coffee and Ryan smiled at her, making a mental note to buy Ke$ha's latest album the next time he was out.

"Was there something you wanted though?"

"Sorry?"

"On Tuesday," she repeated, bringing the conversation back to its place. "You _did _ask me not to go anywhere…" Jordan raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Was I supposed to give a statement or come in for questioning or something?"

"Uh, no. Nothing like that." Ryan gave an uneasy laugh and ran his thumbnail over his right eyebrow. "I uh…" he cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you out to dinner."

She blinked and sat up straighter. "You did?" He nodded. "Why?"

"Why?" Ryan repeated with another nervous laugh. "Um…" he pursed his lips, trying to restrain the ramble that he felt coming on. "Because I thought you were really pretty and you didn't yell at me for knocking you over—which I'm sorry about, by the way—and I'm betting you think that's probably a little presumptuous but I figured I'd be honest." She was still looking confused when he glanced back up at her so he continued. "Look, I just blurt things out sometimes. You're under no obligation to say yes or even acknowledge that this just happened, but I thought—"

Jordan's smile interrupted his yammering. "Okay."

His brow furrowed. "Okay what?"

"Okay, I'd be happy to have dinner with you," she said slowly. "I mean, if you're still asking me."

"You would?" he asked, the voice in his head warning him not to sound desperate or pathetic. "Really?"

"Really," she tucked her hair behind her ear. "That'd be nice."

Twenty minutes later, her name and phone number stored safely in his cell phone, Ryan left Jordan to finish closing up the bakery. He couldn't help the smile that had stretched across his face as he approached his car and unlocked it. Sliding into the driver's seat, Ryan took out his phone again and composed a text message.

Inside Crosby's, Natalia's phone blinked and vibrated. She touched the screen and began to grin. "You're the smartest woman in the world and I'll never doubt you again. I love you guys," she read out loud and clinked her glass with Walter.

_fin_

__**Credit: **Ke$ha, Craigslist, and Snapple.

**AN: **It's okay if you don't like Ryan, but I love him and I wanted him to be happy. Reviews?


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